I'll Be Anybody
by NerdyArtsyUnderdog
Summary: Because anybody who's having sex with Rachel Berry *must* be a willing and *active* partner in her fantasies, right? Right.
1. Prologue

TITLE: I'll Be Anybody

SPOILERS: All aired episodes.

DISCLAIMER: _Glee_ is not mine, unfortunately. If it were, we'd be getting a new episode every day, instead of having to wait until freakin' April.

Chapter title comes from the song "I'll Be Anybody" on DK Ibomeka's _Love Stories_ (which I _**highly**_ recommend checking out, as well as his other album, _I'm Your Man_. Listening to his voice is like being wrapped in warm, rich, silk.)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The inspiration for this story comes from the "_Puckleberry _spa" scene in my first fic, "The Seduction", where Puck is reminded that one of the things he loves most about Rachel is that _every_ moment is an opportunity for theatre. As this series of one-shots indicates, he's about to find out that this includes their sex life, too.

* * *

_**Prologue**_

Noah Puckerman opens his locker one morning, and finds present from his girlfriend, Rachel Berry. He knows it's from Rachel because it's pink. _Very_ pink. With little red hearts and gold stars stickered all over it. And a gigantic pink bow. His curiosity outweighing his embarrassment at being seen holding something _that girly _in front of the whole school, he picks it up and opens it. It's a small book (only Rachel would think that a book is a good present to give him), and the dedication on the front page reads:

"My dearest Noah,

Congratulations for actually picking up this book and opening it. If you have done so while in a public place, such as the hallway in front of your locker, I am doubly proud of you. I was reading _Cosmo_ yesterday afternoon - purely for educational purposes of course; I would never actually endorse any magazine that trades on women's insecurities in such a blatant and exploitative manner - and came across a short article about how research shows that the biggest sex organ is the brain, because of its capacity to allow humans to engage in imaginative play. I was immediately struck by how exciting it could be if we were to engage in such play during our sexual activities. Not that I have any complaints about our sex life as it is, of course. As I have informed you numerous times, you are an exceptionally skilled lover, and I - "

He stops reading at this point because, as usual, Rachel has used more words than are necessary to express her point. Which is this: she wants them to role-play during sex. This is actually one of the (few) sexual activities that he has _not _tried, so he's more than a little turned on by the idea. Flipping through the book, he can see that each page contains a carefully detailed scenario, complete with stage directions and blocking. And, oddly, the lighting design. Choosing to ignore those details (because honestly... once he gets Rachel going, the _last_ thing on her mind is going to be whether she's hit her mark, or if she's backlit), he puts the book in his backpack, and heads to the choir room where he knows Rachel will be running through her scales before class.

He finds her sitting at their piano - it has become "theirs" several times since that first time - working her way through some arpeggios. Bending down behind her and encircling her waist with his arms, he murmurs into her ear,

"Hey babe. Just got your present."

"Did you like it?", Rachel asks, her back still to him.

Sliding his hands up her torso to cup her breasts, he gives each of her nipples a quick, firm pinch. Upon her sharp intake of breath, he growls, "Yes, I did."

And so it begins.

* * *

To be continued...


	2. Final Curtain Call

TITLE: I'll Be Anybody

SPOILERS: All aired episodes.

DISCLAIMER: See the _Prologue._

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, here's the first installment, folks. Thanks so much for alerting, favouriting, and reviewing already. Keep it up! :o)

* * *

_**Scene One: Final Curtain Call**_

Rachel Berry has made several attempts to get ready for the cast party her director is hosting at his Uptown loft but, so far, she has only been able to remove her costume. She can still hear the roar of the standing ovation she received tonight, even though it has been almost two hours since the show ended. She can still feel the adrenaline from completing her first star turn, as a lead in a hit Broadway musical, coursing through her body. Wrapped in the red silk robe her fathers bought her on their last trip to Hong Kong, she sits down at the dressing table once more, determined this time to succeed in removing her stage make-up. She tells herself that she _will_ be leaving for the cast party in forty-five minutes.

She has just finished pinning up her hair when she hears a soft knock on her dressing room door. Sighing, she gets up and goes to answer it, already preparing to tell the Assistant Stage Manager - who takes micromanaging to a level that even _she_ finds difficult to endure - that she'll be on her way, shortly. Thus, she is more than taken aback when she opens the door and finds not the ASM, but a young man she doesn't recognize at all. The flash of alarm disappears as quickly as it arrived, once she realizes that he is desperately clutching a program in one hand, while the other holds a single white rose with a soft, pink blush at its heart. (The fact that she has been training in taekwondo for the last five years also helps.) His shoulders are hunched inward, and a baseball cap is pulled low over his face, as though he has spent his lifetime trying not to be noticed. His eyes dart nervously from side to side, never once fixing upon her own. Clearly, he's a fan; just an incredibly shy one. Wanting to put him at ease (because Rachel Berry adores her public, and never wants them to find her inaccessible) she smiles and says kindly, "Yes? May I help you?"

Looking as though he never expected to get this far, he stutters, "U-um, pardon me, M-Miss Berry. I-I don't mean to intr-intrude, but I was w-w-wondering if you would sign my program."

Reaching out to take the program from him - noticing as she does so how he slightly shrinks back from her hand - she signs her name. Before giving it back to him, though, she says, "I'm curious. How did you get back here?"

His eyes widen in fear, giving Rachel the chance to notice that they're a surprising, intriguing shade of green, flecked with gold, and framed by thick, dark lashes. Taking a deep breath, he replies,

"O-oh, I've been here every night, a-and I know how long it takes everyone to p-pack up and leave. S-so I just waited across from the stage e-entrance and snuck back in before the d-d-door closed behind the ASM. She was the last one out. Except f-for you, of course, Miss B-Berry. Please don't c-call the police. I won't hurt you. I just wanted to g-get your autograph, and to give you th-this." He shoves the white rose at her.

Rachel's not sure why, but something about this poor, stuttering man makes her melt. A flash of insight tells her that he has been treated like a nobody for a long time and, while no one would describe her in that way now, she still vividly remembers how it felt to be treated as such. This is why she takes his hand and says, "Would you like to come in? I could use a little company while I get ready for the cast party."

His entire body freezes at her invitation. His mouth works as though he is trying to say something, yet he is unable to produce any sound.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'", Rachel laughs, pulling him into her dressing room.

Pointing to the brocade chair nestled in the corner across from her dressing table, she asks, "Would you like to sit down?" He does, still not saying a word. Returning to her spot at the table, Rachel spritzes some make-up remover onto a white cotton pad and begins removing her eyeshadow. As she works, she sees the young man's reflection in the three-way mirror: he is watching her every move. His eyes follow her hands as they trace the almond shape of her eyes, follow the curve of her cheek, outline the pout of her lips. The intimacy of the moment, coupled with the unmistakable desire in his eyes, sends a tingling sensation throughout her body. She is reminded that it has been quite a while since she last had sex, given the demands of her performance schedule.

Once all traces of make-up have been removed, she turns around with the intent of asking him if he would like to accompany her to the cast party (and perhaps back to her apartment, afterwards). Before she can open her mouth, however, he breathes,

"Oh my goodness. You are so beautiful."

Rising from the table, she walks over to stand in front of him. "Thank you," she replies, before bending down to kiss him softly on the cheek. The feel of his stubble against her lips creates a low buzzing in her ears, so that she almost misses his sharp intake of breath as her robe gapes open and he catches a glimpse of her breast. Straightening up, she reaches out to remove his baseball cap in order to get a better look at his face. To say that she is surprised by his hairstyle would be a serious understatement. Upon her inquiring look, he mumbles,

"The guys at work told me t-to do it. They said that w-women would find it hot, and I-I would finally get laid. But all that happened was that they l-laughed at me. I'm going to shave the r-rest of it off tomorrow."

Her heart breaking for him, Rachel whispers, "No. Don't do that. It _is_hot. Very hot." Then she unties her robe and lets it float softly to the ground.

For the second time that night, his eyes widen; this time, in shock. As he slowly takes in the swell of Rachel's breasts, the curve of her waist, and the dark patch of hair between her legs, barely covered by a black lace thong, his eyes darken to a deep, hunter green. As Rachel leans forward to kiss him again, they flutter closed.

She kisses him softly at first, slowly letting him get used to her nearness. Since he has never been intimate with a woman before, she knows she needs to be gentle with him. When his arms reach up to encircle her waist, Rachel deepens the kiss, running her tongue along his upper lip. He opens his mouth to her, and she leisurely slides her tongue along, over, and around his. She is pleased to discover that he is a fast learner, as he begins doing the same to her.

As the intensity of their kissing grows, so does Rachel's need. Her body aches with longing for the feel of a man against her, beneath her, inside her. When he tightens his fingers on her behind, she takes a few steps forward so that she is standing between his legs. Reverently, he pulls her panties down, luxuriating in the softness of her skin, thrilling at the firmness of her muscles. Rachel uses her legs to slide her underwear the rest of the way down, before stepping out of them. She then straddles the young man, one knee on either side of him. The seam of his jeans presses directly against her swollen, throbbing, centre.

Bracing herself against the walls, Rachel begins circling her hips over his crotch, working herself into a frenzy as the rough material scrapes against her heated inner thighs. When she feels his erection twitching and pulsing beneath her, she sits up, and slowly undoes his jeans. She doesn't want to undress him: something about his being restricted by clothing, while she is naked and unrestrained, drives her wild. Slipping her hand inside his boxers, she gives his penis a gentle squeeze. The low moan he emits sends moisture trickling down her legs, so she begins stroking him with greater and greater urgency. The louder his moans, the more aroused she becomes. When she is unable to wait any longer, she places her hands on his shoulders and lifts herself up so that the tip of his hardness just barely touches her opening. The she sinks down onto him in one fluid movement.

She freezes for a second, surprised by how well this man - his stranger with the intriguing green eyes - fits her. The moment ends suddenly, though, when he involuntarily thrusts upward, driving so deeply inside her, he touches that most sensitive spot in her body. Throwing her head back with a cry, Rachel begins to ride him: hard, fast, furious. His body is pressed tightly against hers, fingers digging into her hips as he urges her on and on and on. The creaking of the chair provides a counterpoint to her moans; it is almost as though each thrust of his hips forces the sounds from her body. His shirt rustles as her breasts rub against it, the sound matching the rhythm of his sharp, panting breaths.

As tension builds deep within her, she realizes that she has _never_ had sex that felt this wonderful, this free, this alive. She wants the moment to last forever, but then he takes one of her nipples into his mouth and begins to suck: gently, slowly, caressing the peak with his tongue. At the same time, he massages her clit with his thumb, circling faster and faster as she grows hotter, slicker, wetter. Just when Rachel is sure she can't take anymore, he presses his knuckle right against her, sending a fiery bolt shooting up her spine. She comes so hard, he following her lead, that her entire body shudders with the force of their release.

Collapsing against him, she remains there for several minutes, until their breathing has returned to normal. Then she gets up slowly, enjoying the sensation of his penis gradually sliding out of her. She steps away from the young man, smiling as he redoes his jeans with trembling fingers. She wonders if he's going to tell anyone about what just happened. Her panic over what the tabloids will say vanishes the moment she looks into his eyes: they are so full of gratitude, and something that looks like love, she knows that he will never breathe a word of this to anyone.

"Thank you, Miss Berry", he says. His words are more than just a simple courtesy. As are hers.

"You're most welcome", she replies.

Closing the door behind him, Rachel realizes that she never got his name. She decides it doesn't really matter: she will always remember him as the man who gave her best final curtain call she's ever had.

* * *

Rachel opens her bedroom door to let Puck back in. Congratulating herself over his still-sex-glazed eyes, she drawls, "What did you think of that, baby?"

Taking her hands in his, Puck is silent for a moment. Then he says,

"I think I can't believe Tina faked her stutter for so fucking long! That shit is _hard_, man!"

* * *

_Scene._


	3. Guitar Lesson

TITLE: I'll Be Anybody

SPOILERS: All aired episodes.

DISCLAIMER: See the _Prologue._

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you all **so much** for your alerts, favourites and reviews! (I now totally understand what other authors mean by "Reviews are love". They really, truly are.) Someone had asked if there will be any fantasies from Puck's POV: there most certainly will be, but the way I've structured these one-shots means you'll have to wait a while. But not for too long, I promise!

Anyway, here's installment #2. Enjoy!

* * *

_**Scene Two: Guitar Lesson**_

"Again," she says. Her "Please?" is added almost as an afterthought.

"_Fuck_, Rache," he spits. "We've made eleven recordings already! Why isn't that good enough for you?"

Rache - formerly known as "Rachel Berry", before she decided that "Rache" was a better stage name for the international recording superstar she has become. (You know, like "Prince".) - sighs and says,

"Look, Nick. I know you're tired and cranky. Especially the latter, because you're always cranky. But, you must understand that this is the first single of my "unplugged" album, and it has to be _perfect_. I _have_ to show that I am _not _a fake, I am _not_ a lip-syncher, and I _don't_ need Auto-tune to make my voice tolerable to the general public. I still cannot believe _the nerve_ of that despicable Cowell person, _daring_ to suggest that I am anything less than an _exceptionally trained_ singer! Do you realize that my _entire career_ rests on the success of this song?!"

Nick doesn't reply, just looks at her with an unmistakable expression of, "And, I'm supposed to care because _why_?" flashing in his bright green eyes.

"Please, let's just do it one more time, and then we'll call it a night, okay?"

"Fine," he grunts, reaching down and picking up his acoustic guitar again.

He plays, she sings, and this time, it really is perfect. Rache's voice rings out pure and true, completely stripped of any electronic processing. _This is how it's supposed to be_, she thinks to herself. _This is the magic of music._

When they're done, Rache takes off her headset and looks at Nick, a wide smile on her face. "Thank you, Nick. That was beautiful", she says. She really means it.

"Whatever. You're welcome," he replies, his back already turned to her. Rache watches as he carefully puts guitar back into its case. She has never met anyone as cranky, surly, and _completely inaccessible_ as Nick. At first, she had chalked it up to simple male bravado: he was just putting on a badass façade to cover up what she was sure was a sweet, insecure, and loving-but-misunderstood man.

She was wrong.

There is no part of Nick that needs covering up. He really _is_ just a cranky, surly, and inaccessible man... who just happens to be the best session guitarist in the business. Which is why she wanted him. The fact that she now wants him in a different, less professional, way, confuses her. Sure, he's good-looking, with a _very_ well-built body underneath the baggy jeans and oversized flannel shirts he always wears. (The stupid faux-hawk haircut isn't her usual taste, but she is willing to overlook it.) But, being a good-looking man with a hot body isn't exactly a rare commodity in Rache's star-studded world. She could have - and has had - any number of perfect, beautiful men. So, the fact that she finds Nick irresistible is a mystery. Perhaps it's because of his total indifference to who she is. He just doesn't seem to _care_ that she's a superstar, which she finds simultaneously compelling and insulting.

As he closes the latches on his guitar case, Rache blurts, "You know, I've always wanted to do that." (She was _thisclose_ to saying "you" instead of "that", and she thanks every deity she knows for stopping her in time.)

"Do what?", he replies, turning to face her.

"Play guitar."

Silence.

Rache can tell that he's waiting for her to speak again. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in teaching me?"

"Now? I'm pretty sick of this place," he says, gesturing around the small, dimly lit recording studio. "We've been here for almost eight hours."

"Well, I'm a firm believer in 'no time like the present'. I feel an opportunity not taken when it's offered is an opportunity wasted. And I didn't win my first Grammy at the tender age of nineteen by wasting opportunities." She pauses here, for effect. "Just like I'm sure you didn't get to be the best session guitarist in the business by wasting opportunities."

Without missing a beat, Nick fires back, "And how exactly is _my _teaching _you_ to play guitar an opportunity for _me_?"

Rache contemplates his extremely typical response for a moment, and then says, "Teach me how to play guitar now, and I'll let you go for the rest of this week. You won't have to come in again until Monday."

More silence. Then,

"Deal."

"I think we should make it official, don't you?", Rache replies, as she walks toward him with her hand outstretched. Before he can say anything, she takes his hand and gives it a firm shake. As she's letting go, she drags her fingernails lightly against his palm. If Nick is aware of the sensation, he doesn't show it. His face is as impassive, and his body language is as nonchalant, as ever.

Nick retrieves his guitar from the case, pulls up a stool, and motions for Rache to sit down in front of him. She does, making sure that he gets a good look down her shirt as she adjusts herself on the seat. Again, if he's aware of what she's doing, he doesn't show it. Which, of course, makes her all the more determined to get a reaction from him.

Pulling up another stool, Nick sits facing her, and says, "Alright, we're gonna start with some basic open chords. First up, the C chord." He places Rache's fingers in the correct positions, and then tells her to strum. When she does, her face lights up in genuine excitement as the sound reverberates around the room.

"How was that?", she asks eagerly.

"It was okay. Do it again, this time with more confidence. You're not gonna break the strings, trust me."

Rache practices the C chord a few more times, until Nick is satisfied. Not that she'd know it by his behaviour. The majority of his responses to her guitar-playing have been monosyllabic words like "Okay", "Fine", and "Again". She decides that she needs to up the ante in a major way if she expects to get laid tonight. So when Nick suggests that they move onto the C7 chord, she says, as innocently as she can, "You know, I think I would learn better if you sat behind me as you placed my fingers Racheein the appropriate positions. That way, you could show me what to do with both my hands at the same time."

She half-expects him not to agree but, to her surprise, he actually gets up and places his stool behind hers. Rache would have considered this progress if he hadn't rolled his eyes so heavily as he did so.

They resume working on C7. After a several minutes, Rache casually flips her hair over her shoulder so that it tickles Nick's face, and lets the scent of her rosemary-mint shampoo invade his nostrils. Again, there's no discernible reaction from him. Not a hiss, not a sharp intake of breath, not a twitch of his body.

_What is __**wrong**__ with him?!_, Rache cries to herself. _Is he a robot, or something?_

Her determination to get a rise - literally - out of him now even stronger, Rache turns her head to the left (it is her best side, after all), and says, "You know, I'm having a bit of trouble with this one." (It's not a lie, truly. Rache _detests _it when women pretend to be dumb, weak, or helpless in order to attract a man.)

"Maybe it would help if you put your hands on mine, so I could really see what I'm supposed to do?"

She knows it's obvious, but subtle doesn't seem to be working with Nick. (Besides, she has never been very good at subtle.) Again, surprisingly, he reaches his arms around her, and places his hands over hers. The feeling of his rough, calloused fingers rubbing against her soft skin sends little frissons of pleasure skittering all over her body. _**Now**__ we're getting somewhere_, she thinks.

As Nick guides through a few strums of C7, Rache says, casually, "You really are an excellent guitarist. Your fingers are so flexible and nimble, I suspect you'd be very good at playing other things."

"Like what?", Nick asks.

"Like me."

She turns her head (to the left, again, of course) and looks directly into Nick's eyes. "I can be strummed, fingered, and plucked too, you know," she drawls in a sultry voice, hoping that her play on words isn't lost on him.

It isn't.

Arching one eyebrow, Nick replies, "Really...", his tone as dry as a sun-ravaged desert.

"Yes, really."

Nick remains quiet for what seems like hours, but Rache stands firm. She doesn't speak, she doesn't move, she hardly dares to breathe. If Nick doesn't want her, she will certainly feel the sting of rejection, but she knows it will pass. There are plenty of other men who would be more than willing to take her up on her offer. Right now, however, _this_ is the man she wants.

Just as Rache is about to accept defeat, she notices a change. It's small, but it's enough to let her know that she is going to get what she wants: Nick's irises become molten, like liquid, emerald fire, and his pupils elongate slightly. _Yes!_, Rache exclaims to herself. She's about to make the next move when Nick beats her to it. He brings one hand up to her cheek, then cups it around the back of her neck, entwining his fingers in her hair. It's a good thing she's sitting down, because not only has all the air been expelled from her body, but she almost passes out as Nick presses his lips against her ear and whispers,

"I can strum you until your skin bursts and your hot, sweet juice puddles at my feet. I can finger you until your body stretches and squirms and clutches me in a death grip. I can pluck you until your knees buckle and your eyes roll back, and you beg me to stop because it feels so good. But I won't stop. Not until your last sigh, your last moan, your last cry fills the entire room.

Are you sure that's what you want?"

"Yes," is all Rache can whimper. "Oh god, yes."

"Fine."

Nick leans forward, his breath hot on Rache's skin as he carefully removes the guitar from her hands, and gently lays it on the floor. Straightening up, he gathers her hair to one side and runs his fingers lightly down her neck. Rache arches back into him, her breasts already full and wanting, nipples tightened to the point of pain. She begins to remove her shirt, but Nick stops her.

"Let me", he says before painstakingly undoing each button. As he slides the shirt off, he trails wet, hot kisses across her shoulders. When he reaches the pulse point at the intersection of her neck and collarbone, he bites down. Rache hisses in ecstasy, and reaches around to grab his neck and press his lips even tighter against her skin. Nick begins to suck slowly, branding her flesh with the heat of his tongue. All the blood drains from Rache's head and collects at the very centre of her being. Seemingly of their own free will, her knees spread open and her hips begin to rock. A low, pulsing sound emits from deep in her throat.

While Nick has been leaving his mark on her, his hands have snaked up her body and unclasped her bra. Sighing with pleasure at the release, Rache leans back into him as he cups her breasts and rolls her nipples between his fingers. Once they are as hard as diamonds, he slides his hands to her waistband, and then across to the button of her jeans.

"No", Rache says, stopping his hand with one of her own. "I should not be the only one who's naked from the waist up." Turning around to face Nick, she gets up from her stool, pulling him along with her. He runs his hands over her ass and up her back, before locking them around her neck. Then, in one swift plunge, he claims her mouth with his own.

Lips locked and tongues entwined, Rache literally tears Nick's shirt from his body and wraps her legs around his waist, while he kicks away his stool and walks backwards. Upon making contact with the wall, he slides down its cool grey surface until he is sitting on the dark blue industrial carpet, Rache straddled over his hips.

The heat generated rubbing her breasts against the hard planes of his chest intensifies as Nick begins to drag the rough pads of his fingers back and forth across Rache's spine. He is strumming her body, just as he said he would, making her grind her hips into his. Liquid has already pooled between her legs, and she's not sure how much longer she will last. As Nick's fingers start moving up and down as well as back and forth, she throws her head back and cries out,

"Oh, please! Oh, _yes_! Oh, please, don't stop!"

He stops.

Rache lets out a sound that can only be described as pitiful. "Why did you stop?"

"Because Movement No. 1 is over. Now it's time for Movement No. 2", Nick replies.

Without warning, he flips her onto her back so that she's parallel to the wall, then kneels between her legs. With deft fingers, he unbuttons her jeans and slides them off, her red lace boy-shorts going along for the ride. The rough fibres of the carpet digging into her back cause Rache to writhe in delicious anticipation.

With one finger, Nick slowly circles her opening, spreading her wetness around. Rache moans and opens her legs wider, begging him to enter. He obliges by slipping one finger inside and curling it upwards, flicking her clit with his thumb at the same time.

"_Ohhhhhhh...!_", Racheee cries out. "_Oh, __**yes**__! _That's so _good_!"

"Really? How about this?" Nick uses his other hand to reach up and pinch one of her nipples.

"_Ohmygod!" _That's all Rache has time to say because Nick begins a rhythm with his fingers that causes her brain to shut down, and desire to take over: curl his finger, flick her clit, squeeze her nipple.

_Curl. Flick. Pinch. _

_Curl. Flick. Pinch. _

With each movement, Rache takes his hand in deeper, until he is inside her up to his knuckle. When he adds a second finger, she comes. Her body stretches and squirms, her inner walls clutching him in a death grip, as she pumps against him until his hand is covered in her hot, slippery juices.

Nick slowly withdraws his fingers and then stands up. As Rache catches her breath, he takes off his own jeans and underwear. Rache watches him as he moves, his well-defined muscles playing hide-and-seek in the shadows of the softly illuminated room. She is already getting wet again, throbbing at the thought of being completely filled by him.

When Nick lowers his body onto hers, he whispers, "and now for Movement No. 3". The weight of him, pressing her harder into the carpet, sets every nerve in Rache's body ablaze. Before she has time to fully process the sensation, Nick's tongue is in her mouth and his dick is buried deep inside her.

She can't speak, can't think, can't breathe. She can only feel as Nick pounds into her, his tongue ravaging her mouth as his dick plunders her body. Instinctively, she wraps her legs around his waist, driving him harder, faster, deeper. Her arms are flung wide, fingers scrabbling for purchase. She is desperately seeking something - _anything _- to anchor her before she falls headlong into the abyss.

She doesn't find it.

She nearly blacks out from the first wave of her orgasm, it is so intense.

"_Stop_," she begs, her whisper nearly a sob. "Please stop. _It's so good it's so good it's so good_..."

She doesn't mean it, of course. There is _no way_ she wants him to stop. The pleasure he's giving her is so beautifully, exquisitely painful, and like nothing she has ever experienced before. So, she's glad when Nick growls out,

"No", and fucks her even harder, making her arch so high, her eyes roll back.

When she orgasms again, her entire body vibrates as though she can no longer be contained, her final scream of pleasure filling every corner of the room. With one more thrust that lifts them both off the floor, Nick comes as well, his roar raising goosebumps on her skin.

They lie there together, panting, for some time. Nick is the first to recover, getting up and putting his clothes back on. Rache can only look at him, as she is sure all her bones have melted away.

"I'd really like to do that again sometime," she says, as Nick puts his guitar back in its case and heads for the door. With one hand on the doorknob, he turns to look at her, half of his face in the shadows.

"Maybe," he replies. Then he leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.

Rache decides that on her next album, she's going to be playing the guitar.

* * *

Once she feels that she has properly redressed herself, and that there are no telltale signs of recent sexual activity anywhere on her person, Rachel walks out of the sound-proofed, private practice booth off the choir room. She slides up behind Puck, who is leaning against the piano. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she rises on her toes and plants a warm kiss at the nape of his neck.

"We are _definitely_ going to do that again, aren't we," she murmurs.

Puck turns around and shrugs half-heartedly. "Meh... I don't know. It was kinda dark and cramped in there. I couldn't really get into the mood, you know?"

He watches with barely concealed amusement as Rachel's mouth drops open, her eyes widen in disbelief, and the colour rises in her cheeks. He thinks he won't have to wait long before she explodes.

He's right.

"I beg your _pardon_?", she shrieks. "'You don't _know_'?! That was the _best_ sex we've _ever _had at school and you say you weren't in the _mood_? I cannot be-_lieve_ you, Noah! Just who do you think you are? I - "

He shuts her up with a kiss.

"Relax, Berry. I was just messin' with you. That was _seriously_ hot, and we _will_ be doing it again." Looking down at her through heavy-lidded eyes, he continues, "You know I just _love_ getting you all worked up."

Rachel glares at him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, and says, "I hate you, Noah Puckerman."

Laughing, Puck drapes his arm across her shoulders and kisses the top of her head, before walking her to the door.

"No, you don't, babe. You really don't."

* * *

_Scene._


	4. Private Screening

TITLE: I'll Be Anybody

SPOILERS: All aired episodes; vague-ish casting spoilers for the back nine.

DISCLAIMER: See the _Prologue._

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry for the delay, folks. This was a _really_ hard chapter to write. Not only did my life get in the way of... my life, I also had difficulty figuring out both plot and characterization. After _many_ revisions, this is what I ended up with. Hope it's worth the wait!

(P.S. Anyone who can spot the "Buffy" reference gets a gold star. And a cookie!)

* * *

_**Scene Three: Private Screening**_

The moment they enter the room, all eyes turn to them.

He, looking so_ incredibly dangerous_, the crowd's first instinct is to flee from the room, the town, the continent. His intense green eyes, almost glittering as they reflect the dark emerald of his shirt, scan the room slowly. There's a sharpness of wit there, and a sense of keen, cold resourcefulness, that nearly burns a hole into those who dare to meet his gaze. Beneath the black silk of his suit jacket, his crossed arms draw attention to his well-developed muscles, barely being contained by the fabric. The thick stripe of hair running down his otherwise shaved scalp suggests that he is not a man to be trifled with. _Ever._

She, in a long black gown that hugs her curves at all the right places, exudes a sensuality that is overwhelming in its power. The lean muscles of her arms and legs - showcased by the thin straps of her dress, and the skirt that's slit from ankle to mid-thigh - indicates that her strength is not in her sexuality alone: one wrong move and you would find yourself on your back, gasping for air. An elegant upsweep of hair highlights her large, dark eyes, which are outlined in rich tones of charcoal grey and smoky purple. Those eyes flash with a fiery, boundless intelligence.

They are Raquel B. and Nolan Puckerton: triple threats, power couple, and CEOs of _Directions_, the second-largest production company in North America. At this after-party for the Oscars, they put the "A" in "A-list": affluent, audacious, aloof. Despite this reputation or, perhaps, becauseof it, _everyon_e wants to meet them. To be them. To do them. But, they belong to each other. No one ever gets in their way.

They move through the space, greeting warmly those they know, and nodding coolly to those who only _wish_ they were known. The sea of bodies parts before them wherever they go, giving the impression that the crowd is simply one, psychically-connected entity, perfectly in tune with its masters. Taking two flutes of Dom Perignon from the tray of a passing waiter, Nolan hands one to Raquel before they both engage George, Sophia, and Meryl in conversation. After a few minutes, Raquel feels the hairs on the back of her neck start to rise. Turning her head first to the right, and then to the left, she locks eyes with a tall, lean man, impeccably dressed in a dark grey suit and navy silk shirt that offsets the blue-black highlights in his curly dark hair. Immediately, disgust and revulsion course through her veins, and she tightens her grip on Nolan's hand. When he looks down at her, she gives a small nod of her head in the man's direction. The moment Nolan lays eyes on him, his face hardens and his eyes change to a dark, foreboding green. Waves of imminent danger roll off him, causing the conversation around him to falter. When their companions realize who has caught Nolan's and Raquel's attention, they spare each other a sideways glance and nod knowingly. _Of course_, they think to themselves.

The man is named Jay Groffman. He is the CEO of _Rush_, the third-largest production company in North America. To say that there is a friendly rivalry between him, and Raquel and Nolan would be a bold-faced lie. Simply put, they loathe each other. Jay believes that Nolan and Raquel are small-town, no-class hicks who have only reached the top because of Nolan's (rumoured) criminal ties and Raquel's (rumoured) prowess in bed. For their part, Nolan and Raquel think Jay is a weak, spoiled, and talentless boor whose success in the film industry is solely due to his mother's - world-renowned director Shelley Groffman - connections.

Jay's face is filled with derision and and barely-concealed anger as he slowly looks Nolan and Raquel up and down. The crowd watches with interest as Raquel's cheeks start to blaze and Nolan lets go of her hand to circle his arm around her waist. They can tell that Jay is _thisclose_ to receiving one of Raquel's infamous verbal attacks and, to be honest, they are waiting in fervent anticipation. Unfortunately for them, it doesn't happen. Instead, Nolan tightens his arm around Raquel as she looks up into his eyes. They share a secret smile, and an undeniable frisson of... _something_ passes between them. Nolan then removes his arm from around Raquel and idly trails his fingers along her inner arm, moving from elbow to wrist. Once again taking her hand, he nods to the group and excuses the two of them. As he leads Raquel to a small doorway on the other side of the room, he doesn't even glance in Jay's direction. Everyone knows that Nolan is the only one who can handle Raquel's intensity, so it is assumed that he is taking her out of the room in order to cool her down.

They are mistaken.

He is taking her out of the room in order to fire her up.

***

Raquel is seething as she follows Nolan through the doors and up the spiral staircase to their left. She knows that she shouldn't let a non-entity like Jay Groffman affect her like that, especially since he hadn't said a word. But she couldn't help it. Somehow, he always manages to under her skin with very little effort. At one time, during her early days in Hollywood, Raquel had found that to be alluring and exciting. It didn't take long, however, for Jay to show his true colours, and Raquel is forever grateful that she ended their romantic entanglement not long after it had begun.

Taking a deep breath, she exhales slowly and takes in her surroundings. She and Nolan are standing in glassed-walled mezzanine overlooking the ballroom floor. She realizes that no one is looking up at them because the glass is one-way: they can see out, but the people below can't see in. Clearly, it was designed to give guests seeking a quieter atmosphere some privacy without being too removed from the action. She surmises that it is being left unused this night for safety and security reasons.

Nolan walks to the centre of the space, past the empty booths and intimate tables for two, pausing briefly to remove his jacket and lay it on a chair. He stands so close to the glass wall, his breath leaves little patches of fog when he exhales. Striding over to him, Raquel hisses,

"Why did you take me out of the room? I was about to _annihilate_ that little worm!"

"I know, baby. And, as much as I would have enjoyed seeing that, I didn't want to give him the satisfaction. You know he was just trying to get you all riled up again. Besides", he continues in a low voice, moving behind her to wrap her body in his arms, "the only person who's allowed to get you all riled up is _me."_

Tightening his grip, he takes her earlobe into his mouth and sucks gently, before grazing it with his teeth.

Automatically, Raquel reaches back and locks her arms around his neck, arching into his body.

"Here? Now?", she breathes, nipples already hardening in anticipation.

"Why not?", Nolan replies, sliding his hands down her thighs.

"Because everyone who knows us is down there. They saw us leave. What if one of them comes looking for us? What if they find us?"

"So what if they do?", Nolan murmurs against her skin. "They might learn something."

"I - I don't think this is appropriate, Nolan. We have a reputation to protect. I don't know that we should do this." Despite her verbal protests, Raquel's body is ready and willing. She can feel the liquid collecting between her legs, and wonders for how much longer she can hold out.

"Babe", Nolan answers, "We're a couple of hot, good-lookin' Jews. We can do anything." Slipping his hand first through the slit in her dress, and then into the waistband of her thong, he gently cups her mound.

"Do you want me?", he asks, his voice thick and low with desire.

"Yes," Raquel sighs, squirming against him. "Oh _god_, yes."

"Then have me." With those words, Nolan tightens his hand around her vagina and plunges a finger deep within her.

Raquel's body responds immediately: her muscles clench around Nolan's finger as she rocks her hips back and forth, trying to drive him even deeper. As he begins to slid his finger in and out of her, Raquel turns her head towards him and brings his face down to hers, crushing his lips with her own. When their tongues meet, Nolan adds another finger to the first before pumping his hand to the rhythm of Raquel's shallow, staggered breaths. She comes quickly and fiercely, biting down on his lower lip in order to stifle her cries.

Removing his fingers, Nolan places his hands on Raquel's hips to stop her from turning around to face him. "No, babe. I want you to face front. I want you to watch them as I take you. I want you to watch them as I fuck you right in front of their faces, and they don't even know. I want you to _see_ that we are - literally and figuratively - above them."

Before Raquel can protest, Nolan slides the straps of her dress off her shoulders, and pushes the silky material down her body, letting it pool at her feet. Now clad in only her black lace thong and three-inch stilettos, she doesn't resist as Nolan takes both her wrists in his hand and raises her arms above her head. Gently leaning her against the glass, he holds her wrists in place. The feel of her heated, swollen breasts pressed against the cool planes causes goosebumps to erupt all over her skin. When Nolan uses his other hand to tease and stroke her still-engorged clit, a low moan escapes from her throat. She steps back and arches her body, spreading her legs even wider for him. Just as the tension of her second orgasm is about to spill over, Nolan stops touching her.

"Hey!", she cries. "What are you doing? Why did you stop?"

"Shhh, baby, shh. Trust me. Wait." Quickly, he undoes his zipper and pulls out his hard, throbbing cock. Guiding it with his hand, he uses the tip to nudge her panties aside. He glides his erection along her wetness, shivering with pleasure as she matches his movement by rocking her hips back and forth along his length.

"Oh, Nolan," she breathes. "I want you. I need you. Inside me. _Now_."

Slowly, oh-so-slowly, Nolan pushes into her. When Raquel thinks that he is as deep inside her as he can get, he surprises her by going even further, stretching her like never before. She tightens around him, wanting the feeling to last, but Nolan has other ideas. In one swift move, he pulls out and then plunges back into her so quickly, her body barely registers his movement. Before she can catch up, he does it again. And again. And again.

Raquel's fingers slide and squeak against the glass as Nolan pounds into her, sweat-slicked breasts heaving against the diamond-hard surface. With every thrust of his hips, he lets out a deep, feral growl that nearly drives her over the edge. Letting go of her wrists, Nolan cups her breasts and buries his head in her neck, furiously grinding his body deep inside hers. As he thrusts, Raquel reaches around and digs her fingers into his taut behind, urging him to go faster. He obliges, and then takes her nipples between his fingers, working them relentlessly. Raquel's hot, salty juices run down her thighs as she watches the other guests mill about below her. Being penetrated from behind is like nothing she has ever experienced before: it's as though all of her nerve endings are being brushed backwards repeatedly, sending sharp bolts of electricity along her arms and legs, and through the top of her head. The feeling is only enhanced by the sheer, raw power she feels at doing something so sexually, dangerously explicit in a room full of her associates, friends and, notably, enemies. Overwhelmed, she wails in ecstasy and prays that Nolan never _ever_ stops fucking her.

Just when she feels like she will spontaneously combust from the heat, the pleasure, the desire, Nolan gives one final, vigourous thrust, biting down on her shoulder as he comes. His liquid fire swirling inside her causes Raquel's orgasm to explode from her body, sending shock waves along the glass. For a split second, she is afraid that the rippling panes will catch the eye of the guests below. But no one ever looks up.

Pulling out of her, Nolan places a hot, wet kiss at the base of her neck, before tucking himself back into his pants. Her body still quivering, Raquel reaches down to pull up her dress, adjusting the straps with trembling fingers. Finally turning around to face Nolan, she places her lips against his in a slow, sensual, luxurious kiss.

Hand in hand, Nolan and Raquel walk back across the mezzanine, down the stairs, through the doors. The first person to catch her eye is Jay Groffman. He takes in her swollen lips, Nolan's rumpled shirt, and the sex-glazed look in both their eyes. The expression on his face flits from shock, to something that looks like arousal, and then finally, fury.

_Yes, that's right, Jay_, Raquel thinks to herself. With Nolan's trademark smirk upon her face, she slowly and deliberately mouths the words "Fuck. You." to Jay. Then she turns away and rejoins the party, her partner and lover at her side.

* * *

"Wow, babe," Puck breathes appreciatively. "I can't believe you just let me have sex with you _here_, practically in front of the _entire_ opening reception at Nationals! I gotta say, I'm kinda glad we ran into that Vocal Adrenaline douche this afternoon and he got you all pissed off. What we just did was fucking _epic_ in it's hotness. It totally needs to happen more often!"

"Really?", Rachel enquires, one eyebrow raised. "Are you suggesting that you would find it desirable if I wrote my ex-boyfriends into more of my sexual fantasies with you?"

"Uh. No. Um. Wait. Wha-?"

"Okay!", she chirps brightly, cutting him off. Turning and walking away from him, she murmurs, "Hmmm.... I wonder how I could write Finn in. Or, what about Finn _and_ Jon? Ooooh, perhaps there could be some sort of oil involved...."

"Hey, Rach! _Wait_!" Puck dashes madly after her.

"That is _so_ not what I meant!"

* * *

_Scene._


	5. Intermission

TITLE: I'll Be Anybody

DISCLAIMER: _Glee_, and its associated characters, does not belong to me. *mournful sigh*

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks for continuing to read and review this story, folks! As mentioned, it really is love!

* * *

_**Intermission**_

Rachel Berry opens her locker one morning, and finds a notebook that doesn't belong to her. She knows it's not hers, because it's black. With a cracked spine. And pages that curl at the edges. And a large stain that looks suspiciously like blue raspberry slushie. After a moment, she realizes that the book most likely belongs to her boyfriend, Noah Puckerman. Gingerly picking it up, with the intent of returning it to him during third period, the cover falls open and she sees that the book has been dedicated to her. Curiosity outweighing her disgust at handling something so obviously unclean, Rachel reads the inscription:

"Hey baby,

Congratulations for actually picking up this book and opening it. If you did it with your bare hands, I'm even more proud of you; it is my book after all, and you don't know where it's been. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that, even though I'm _totally_ loving these little games we've been playing - I had no idea you were such a sex freak! - I think it's time we mix things up a bit. You're not the only one who has fantasies, you know.

- N."

Flipping through the book, Rachel gets a good sense of what Noah has in mind. Simultaneously horrified and aroused, she heads to the boys' locker room where she knows he'll be showering after his pre-class run around the track.

She finds him standing at his locker, a towel cinched around his waist. Since is back is to the door, he doesn't see her sneak up behind him.

"Hi sweetie," she murmurs, wrapping her arms around him. Giggling at his squeak of surprise, she continues, "I just found your book."

"Did you like it?", Noah asks, his back still to her.

Sliding one hand between the gap in his towel, Rachel lightly strokes him. Upon his sharp intake of breath, she drawls, "Yes, I did."

And so it continues.


	6. Long Overdue

TITLE: I'll Be Anybody

SPOILERS: All aired episodes.

DISCLAIMER: See the _Prologue._

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Lots of author's notes today...

First, apparently, _Glee_ has only taken over the parts of my brain that don't belong to _Buffy_. I unconsciously referenced a scene from Season 6 ("Spuffy" sex on the balcony at the Bronze), which is the one that everybody got. The scene I'd _intended_ to reference was from Season 7, where Buffy threatens to lock Spike and Angel in a room and let them "wrastle it out", perhaps "with oil of some kind". (It appears that nobody got that one.) I don't know whether to be amused at how deeply ingrained _Buffy_ is in my brain, or afraid.

Second, I wanted to mention that every time Puck and Rachel have sex in these one-shots, they're using protection. I just don't write it into their scenes because I think it breaks the fantasy. It's hard to make condoms sexy, you know?

Finally, here's what you've all been waiting for: a Puck fantasy. As always, reviews are love!

* * *

_**Scene Four: Long Overdue**_

Puck sits in his truck, parked across the street from the Lima Public Library. He has been there for quite some time, trying to work up the nerve to go in. He _reeaaaaalllly_ doesn't want to. First of all, it's a fucking _library_ - he just doesn't _do _libraries, especially when other people might see him. Second of all, it has fucking _books_ - and he just doesn't _do _books. Like, _ever_.

Except for the one that's currently resting on the seat next to him. But that's different: he only took it out because it was this like, super awesome book about sex handed down by the Indian gods, or something. And, as a Sex God himself, Puck felt it was only right that he check it out. Plus, it had some _seriously wicked_ positions in there, and he is _dying_ to try them with someone. This brings him to the third reason he doesn't want to go into the library.

Raylene Barry. Volunteer librarian, Southern Belle, ice princess. She turns him on and terrifies him at the same time. Never has Puck met anyone so deliciously warm - that soft, Georgia peach voice; those dark caramel eyes; that rich chestnut-and-honey hair - and yet so bitingly cold. Seriously, a few clipped words from her and he can practically _feel_ his balls shrivel up and fall off. She is imperious and aloof and _so fucking superior_, looking at him over the top of her glasses like he's a _nobody_, all he wants to do is grab her by the shoulders and... and....

And fuck her senseless.

He can't help it. Raylene has this hot, tight little body, which she covers - sadly - with Oxford shirts and Argyle sweater vests. Her thick hair is always caught up in a severe bun, showing off the soft curve of her check, and the long line of her neck. And her skirts... oh, _god_, her skirts. They're always these little plaid things that barely cover her ass. They make her legs look miles long, an effect only magnified by the heels she wears. Puck can't figure out exactly how Raylene can make sensible pumps - his mom's term, not his, obviously - look like "come fuck me" shoes. But, she does. And it drives him crazy.

So, he sits in his truck and watches the numbers on his dashboard clock change. He figures that if he waits until right before closing, he can run in, return the book, and run out again, without anyone from school seeing him, _and_ without Raylene making any sarcastic comments about his choice of reading material. Not that Puck actually _read_ the book, of course. He just looked at the pictures and tried to figure out how the fuck his body was supposed to bend like that.

Puck glances at the clock and groans, realizing that he only has five minutes until the library closes. Grabbing the book and getting out of his truck, he checks to make sure that no one's around. Then he sprints across the street, and ducks in the side door of the library. He figures that if he can return the book without even _seeing_ Raylene, he'll be golden.

Naturally, she's stacking the shelves right next to the door when he bursts in.

Turning her head to look at him, she raises an eyebrow and says in her dangerously soft Southern accent, "Mr. Puckerman. To what do I owe this pleasure?" The glint of cold steel in her eye lets him know that seeing him in her library is most definitely _not_ a pleasure.

Figuring that the best defense is a good offense, Puck snarks back,

"What do you think, _Ray_? I'm here to return a book." He calls her Ray because he thinks - hopes - it pisses her off. Given that she has never reacted to him, however, Puck doesn't know if it's working.

Glancing at the giant antique clock mounted above the main entrance to the building, Raylene replies, "We're closed."

"No you're not," retorts Puck. You're open until 11:00 and it's only 10:55."

Checking the slim gold watch on her wrist, Raylene says, "It's 10:58."

Sighing in frustration, Puck says, "Look, whatever. Can I please just return the book and get out of here?"

Turning to face him fully, Raylene looks right at Puck, arms crossed. He has the distinct feeling that he's being evaluated by some kind of laser-eyed, ball-busting, fem-bot automaton, so he concentrates on keeping his face as neutral as possible. After what feels like an eternity, Raylene sighs and says, "Fine. The less time I have to spend in your presence, the better."

With that, she strides towards the front desk, the hem of her navy blue and charcoal grey plaid skirt bouncing against her long, lean thighs. Puck holds the book in front of him, the better to hide his erection, before following her.

Standing behind the desk, Raylene holds out her hand for the book, and scans it once Puck has passed it to her.

"Well, my goodness. There's a surprise," she says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "This book is several weeks overdue. I suppose you thought that you were somehow above having to obey the rules for proper use of the library and its materials?"

"No, I just forgot, okay? _Fuck_. Why do you have to be such a bitch about it? I'll just pay the overdue fines and go. I promise that I'll _never_ set foot in here again."

"A lady can only dream," Raylene replies. Looking at the book again, she sniffs disdainfully and says quietly (but not so quietly that Puck can't hear), "How interesting. Given all the rumours about you, I would have thought that you wouldn't have needed to consult a book such as this one. Especially not for so long. Apparently, the reality doesn't live up to the myth. Shocking."

The only reason Puck is grateful for the 'tude she's giving him is that it has made his erection disappear. His blood is coursing furiously through his entire body, and it's all he can do to keep from leaping over the desk and shoving his tongue down her throat, just so she'll shut. The. _Fuck_. Up.

Raylene taps at her keyboard and, after a few moments, says, "You owe sixty-three dollars and forty-two cents."

"The _hell_?", Puck blurts. "That's crazy!"

"No," Raylene replies coolly. "That's what you owe."

"And if I don't pay it?" he challenges.

"Then you will have to work it off. The municipal code books in the archives room need to be re-organized. In chronological as well as alphabetical order. They date from 1876."

"Fuck. _Fine._" Puck is extra pissed off because he had earmarked the money in his wallet for beer and some quality dip. Now he has to spend it all on a _fucking book_.

"How would you like to pay?", Raylene asks.

"Huh?"

"How... would... you... like... to... pay?", she repeats slowly, as though speaking to learning-impaired child.

"Oh. Uh, cash."

Pursing her lips and exhaling heavily, Raylene says, "The cash box is in the office upstairs. Follow me."

Walking behind Raylene, Puck looks anywhere but at her, not wanting his erection to make an encore presentation. Taking in the warm gold light emanating from the antique lamps, the rich dark wood of the bookshelves and the beams stretched across the high, vaulted ceilings, Puck thinks that maybe the library wouldn't be a such bad place to spend some time in... if it weren't for Raylene... and all those fucking books.

When they reach the small door that leads to the librarians' tiny office, Raylene turns to Puck and says, "Give it to me."

Digging into his pocket, Puck begins to retrieve his wallet when Raylene wraps her hand around his wrist and says, "No. _Give_ it to me." Then she thrusts his hand under her skirt.

She's not wearing any underwear.

Puck hears a dull, thunderous, rushing noise in his ears. It takes a moment for him to realize that it's the sound of his blood draining from his head to his dick. His erection is immediate and insistent, straining painfully against his zipper. It gets even worse as Raylene begins to rock her hips against his hand, moaning softly: "Yes... oh yes... yes..." Not being one to waste a sexual opportunity, Puck slowly begins circling Raylene's clit with his thumb, watching hungrily as her hand snakes up and undoes her bun, letting her chocolate tresses cascade down her neck and shoulders. As Raylene's breaths become more ragged, Puck leans forward and growls in her ear,

"Would you like me to show you?"

"Show me what?", she gasps, her Southern accent growing stronger.

Biting gently on her earlobe and smirking at her quick hiss of breath, Puck replies, "Show you what I learned from that book."

"Yes," she sighs, grinding down on his hand even harder.

Regretfully, Puck removes his hand from under her skirt and backs up until he's pressed against the stacks.

"Take off your shoes." He's surprised that the sudden decrease in height doesn't make Raylene any less imposing. He didn't think it was possible, but the fact that he's (_finally_) getting to fuck this incredible woman turns him on even more. Hauling her body flush against his, he presses his crotch into hers briefly, before undoing his fly and pulling out his throbbing dick. Then he guides her legs so she's straddling him, each foot resting on the third shelf from the bottom. Raylene locks her arms around his neck while he wraps his arms around her waist. Then he steps forward a bit, bracing his back firmly against the shelves. Spreading her folds with his dick and sliding into her hot, wet centre, he says, "This one's called _Suspended Congress_." He grabs her ripe, round ass and begins to thrust.

With each movement of his hips, Raylene moans in ecstasy. It's a deep, sultry sound that makes Puck burn with desire and pound into her with even more force. As Raylene answers his body with hip thrusts of her own, she throws her head back and cries out, "Oh _god!_ Oh _yes!_ Oh _god!_ Oh _yes!!_" Pumping furiously now, Puck can feel her muscles clenching and unclenching around him, and he knows she's about to come soon. So he slides one hand from under Raylene's ass, across her hip, and over to her clit. Then he gives it a quick, sharp flick.

That's all it takes.

Raylene grips his waist with her thighs as her walls grip his dick, and she comes. Hard and fast, her juices dripping down her thighs. It's all Puck can do to keep from coming himself, but he has other things in mind. He said he was going to show Raylene what he knows and, by _god_, he means it.

Setting her lightly on the ground, Puck removes Raylene's glasses and rests them on the shelf behind him. Cupping one hand at the nape of her neck, he asks,

"Wanna see what's next?"

"Certainly," Raylene answers, the look on her face suggesting that he's an idiot for thinking otherwise.

"Good."

Quickly pulling off his shirt, Puck motions for Raylene to do the same. The demureness of her simple white lace bra is decidedly at odds with the freaky sex beast she so clearly is, but Puck decides he likes it. Truth be told, he'd always suspected that there were many sides to Raylene and this just confirms it for him. Wordlessly, they both sink to the floor, and Puck uses their clothes to form a makeshift blanket. Gently pushing Raylene onto her back, he says,

"This is _The Lotus_. You do yoga, right?"

When Raylene nods, he says, "Of _course_ you do."

Hovering above Raylene, Puck leans down and starts to kiss a path down her body. He starts with the sensitive spot behind her ear, then moves along her jaw and down her neck, pausing to lick the little dent between her collarbones. Raylene's body writhes in response, her mouth forming a perfect "O" of desire. Puck resumes his task, kissing a trail down her belly to the waistband of her skirt. Deftly undoing the side zipper and sliding it off, he continues his way to the damp, musky thatch of hair between her legs. Finding her clit already slick and throbbing he takes it in his mouth and begins to suck.

"_Aiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeee..._", Raylene sighs, arching her back.

Puck can't get over the taste of her: salty and sweet, with a faint flavour of... peaches. He could happily stay there all night, feasting on Raylene until she's spent but, as mentioned, he has other things in mind. When he senses that she's about to come again, he stops devouring her and sits up on his knees.

"Cross your legs", he tells Raylene. "No, not like that, like this." Taking hold of her ankles, Puck crosses Raylene's legs and bends them until they're folded and resting on her chest. This position gives him a perfect view of her pink, pulsating centre, which causes his dick to harden and thicken in response. Positioning himself above her again, Puck drives deep into Raylene, all the way to the base of his shaft.

"Oh my _Lord!_", Raylene yells.

"_Sshhhh...._", whispers Puck. "We're in the library, you know."

Giving him a death glare, Raylene replies, "Be quiet. Fuck me."

So he does. He thrusts in and out of her so hard and so fast, he's pretty sure there'll be burn marks on his dick tomorrow from the heat they're generating. The feeling of Raylene stretching and spreading to take all of him in, and closing around him once she does, is incredible. She's so hot and tight, tiny pinpricks of pleasure erupt all over his body every time he slides into her, making him never want to stop. Suddenly, Raylene reaches forward to grab his guns, rocking her hips up and driving him even more deeply inside her. Puck figures he's hit her G-spot because then she rakes her nails down his arms as she screams,

"Oh, sweet baby Jesus!"

Puck almost comes right along with her, but he pulls back from the edge just in time. He'd be amazed at his self control except that he _is_ a Sex God after all. Those Indian dudes got nothing on him.

Laying down on top of Raylene, he pushes her hair off her flushed face and says,

"Do you need some time to cool off? Or, are you ready for the next position?"

Looking at him with a raised eyebrow, Raylene replies, "I am ready whenever you are, Mr. Puckerman."

Puck can't explain why the fact that she's still such a cold bitch after he's made her come - _twice_ - turns him on so much. It just does. Besides, he was never one for introspection anyway. "Fine."

Standing up, Puck quickly kicks off his shoes, then takes off his jeans and underwear. Kneeling in front of Raylene, he sits back on his heels, thighs open in a "V" shape. Hooking an arm behind each of her legs, he wraps them around his waist. Then he slides his hands up along her her body until he reaches her bra. With a quick twist of his fingers, he undoes it and tosses it aside. Puck marvels at her breasts: a little on the small side, but round and high, with two pert, dusky little nipples. Cupping them with his hands, he begins to slowly roll her nipples between his fingers.

"Mmmmmmm....", Raylene hums, licking her lips with pleasure. The sight of her tiny, pink tongue darting around her full red mouth nearly does him in. Increasing the pressure, Puck grins in satisfaction as Raylene arches her back, causing the muscles of her stomach to tauten and elongate. He's sure he's never seen anything so hot and beautiful in his entire life.

Supporting Raylene under her lower back with his hands, he lifts her hips so that they rest on his thighs. Then he enters her, slowly. Raylene crosses her ankles behind him, effectively trapping him between her legs. Puck pulls almost all the way out, before slowly pushing back in again. He keeps this steady rhythm as he pumps in and out. After the frenzy of their previous fucks, he wants this one to be different. He wants Raylene to _remember_ what it's like to have him inside her, long after he's gone. Raylene matches his rhythm, her breasts bouncing gently in sync, soft sighs escaping from her lips.

As Raylene begins to rake her nails lightly along his thighs, a deep moan fills the room. It's a few moments before Puck realizes he's the one making it. Raylene's nails against his skin sends tingles all along his spine, and he shudders from the delicious sensation. She responds to his body by tightening her legs around him. Puck's in heaven, leisurely rocking into her as she rocks into him. He can't believe he's here, fucking Raylene Barry senseless, just like he always dreamed. He thinks he might almost never have sex again. Almost. With two final thrusts, they come together, their cries reverberating around the still of the library.

Pulling out of her, Puck lies on his side next to Raylene and informs her,

"That one was called _Widely Opened_. I think it's my favourite, because I get to watch your boobs bounce as I fuck you."

Raylene answers by rolling her eyes and standing up. He watches unabashedly as she pulls on her skirt, and gets a clear view of her ass as she bends down to pick up her bra, shirt and sweater vest. As Raylene puts on her shirt, Puck wonders if she's fucked anyone else in the library. He quickly decides that he doesn't care, because he _knows_ no one gave it to her as good as he just did. With one hand on the doorknob to her office, Raylene looks down at him and says,

"I'll waive your overdue fines, but only this once. If you again fail to return a book on time, I _will_ make you work it off." With that, she opens the door and disappears inside.

As he gets dressed, Puck scans the books on the shelves in front of him. He might as well figure out now which one he's going to fail to return. Who knew that the promise of "working it off" with Raylene would get him interested in reading a _fucking book_?

* * *

Stepping out of the librarians' office and closing the door behind her, Rachel says to Puck,

"I'm curious, Noah: exactly how long have you wanted to engage in sexual intercourse in the public library?"

"Oh, for a _looooooong _time, babe. Ever since I saw my first porno, 'Stacked'."

"I see. And exactly how long have you wanted me to play the part of the librarian?"

"The day I first kissed you, baby."

"Good answer."

Sneaking out the side door, Puck stops to thank his accomplice, who'd made sure the door stayed unlocked after the library closed. Patting the man on his head and scratching behind his ear, Puck says,

"Thanks, Patches."

"_Arf!_", comes the reply.

* * *

_Scene._


	7. The Guns of Puckerone

TITLE: I'll Be Anybody

SPOILERS: All aired episodes.

DISCLAIMER: See the _Prologue._

AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, the bad news is that this update is so late because life has just been getting in the way of everything fun, and that won't be changing any time soon. The even worse news is that I'm going to have to send my computer to be repaired, because I can no longer ignore the strange noise it makes whenever I turn it on, which means I won't be updating this story for a while. *sigh* If the wait grows too much for you to bear, you can always re-read "The Seduction" and/or the previous chapters in this fic. :o)

Also, I know virtually nothing about the military, so please forgive any inaccuracies.

Finally, reviews are love!

* * *

"_**RUN!!"**_, bellowed Sgt. Noel Pucker, as a hail of enemy bullets rained down on them.

The attack had come out of nowhere. One moment, he and his troops had been walking quietly to the next checkpoint, and the next, they were scattering like cockroaches under a floodlight. As he runs for his life, Noel makes a mental note to find Karofsky when this is all over, and ask him if he understands what the word "lookout" means. It doesn't matter that the night is pitch black, or that they're in the middle of the worst thunderstorm he has ever seen: Karofsky had a fucking job to do, and he didn't do it. If he isn't already dead by now, Noel's going to make sure that he ends up that way. (Figuratively, of course. Maybe.)

The wind is blowing and howling so fiercely, the raindrops are falling sideways, which means visibility is pretty much non-existent. Coupled with the constant _rat-tat-tat-at-tat_ of the guns - both friendly and those of the enemy - and the sound of his people dying around him, Noel is so disoriented he wouldn't be able to tell you which way is up if his life depended on it. So it's too bad that, right now, it kinda does.

Hescurries around like a blind mouse, desperately trying to return his troops to some kind of order. But the enemy - whoever they are - are too smart, too fast, and too well-organized. It seems like, at every turn, a bullet whizzes by his head, and he's forced to duck and cover. Noel's not sure how long this goes on for - hell, he's not even sure how he's still alive - but eventually, he realizes that he has become separated from his troops and, as it turns out, the action. Thinking that he needs to find a safe place and radio for help - he can no longer take for granted that Jones did it, because he doesn't even know if she's still alive - he moves carefully through the nearby woods. After a mile or two, he spots what looks like an abandoned armoured Jeep. Running toward it and leaping in, Noel hears his mother in his head: "Looks can be deceiving, you know." Her voices almost drowns out the _click_ of the safety on a pistol. It _certainly_ doesn't drown out the feeling of the barrel pressed against the base of his skull, though.

Raising his arms slowly, Noel says, "Before you kill me, could you at least tell me who you are?"

"Sergeant Renée Berlian, First Class, 144098." There's a brief pause. Then, "You're American."

"Sergeant Noel Pucker, First Class, 153527. So, does this mean you'll stop pointing your gun at my head?"

When the feeling of cold metal digging against his scalp disappears, Noel turns around and discovers that Sgt. Berlian has indeed lowered her gun. Halfway. He also discovers that she is hot. _Smoking _hot. Big, dark chocolate eyes; full, dusky pink lips; thick chestnut hair; and the firmest, tightest little body, currently being revealed by a white tank top.

Here's the thing about Noel: his troops, and pretty much everyone else, call him "Sgt. Fucker" behind his back. It's not just because it rhymes with his last name: it's also because he's an unabashed, unapologetic, and highly successful womanizer. Thinking that he and Sergeant Berlian are going to be stuck in this truck for a while - the weather is making it impossible for him to get a strong enough signal to call for back-up - he figures they might as well pass the time by getting to know one another.

Taking another, closer look at Berlian, he realizes that she's injured. Her right pant leg has been ripped away at the knee, to reveal a shapely, tanned leg covered in scratches and bruises. In addition, her right ankle has been wrapped up with strips of material from the torn-away section of her pants.

"What happened?", he asks.

"Guess," comes the terse reply.

"Well, clearly you got hurt. How? Where's the rest of your troops?"

"Ambushed about five miles from here. They came out of nowhere."

"Us, too. Any idea who they are?"

Berlian shrugs. "Fierce. Fast. Deadly. In two minutes, I didn't know where I was. Didn't know what was going on. Got dragged by someone - or some_thing_ - across a field. Managed to break away into these woods. Tripped on a stupid tree root. Found this Jeep, took care of my ankle as best I could. Been here ever since. Figured I'd wait out the storm, then see what I could do."

Noel gets the impression that those are the most words that Berlian has ever said in one go. For some reason, that really turns him on. He thinks she must have all sorts of stuff bubbling underneath that she's trying to keep a tight lid on, and he decides that he's going to be the one to make her blow. Under normal circumstances, he'd probably get courtmartialled, but the circumstances are most definitely _not_ normal. Whoever - or whatever - it was that attacked both his and Berlian's troops are unlike anything he's ever seen during all his years in service. For all he knows, they could be out there right now, just waiting for the right moment to blow them both to bits.

Facing Berlian and settling his back against the door, he removes his wet jacket and says (half) jokingly, "So, what's a fine woman like you doing in the army?"

She gives him a look that would have made a less arrogant man quiver in fear, and doesn't reply.

"No, seriously," Noel says, after a few moments' silence. "What made you decide to join?"

Almost as if it physically pains her to form the words, Berlian clips out, "Granddad. Dad. Three brothers. All military. It's what we do." _Case closed_, the look on her face clearly says.

"What - "

_**{{BOOM}}**_

The rest of Noel's question is cut off by what sounds like at least twenty grenades going off all at once. The shockwaves from the noise cause the Jeep to lurch violently, hurling Berlian flush against Noel's body, and wrenching her injured ankle in the process.

"_Fuck! Ow! Damn!_", she yells.

Noel watches as she clenches her jaw against the pain, and slowly slides back across the seat. _She is one tough chick_, he thinks, _and it's fucking hot_. Berlian rewraps her ankle and rests it gingerly on the seat between them.

"How's the pain? Is it subsiding?", Noel asks with genuine concern.

"It's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"I don't believe you. It looks like those bruises are actually getting worse. Let me see."

Before she can even draw a breath to protest, Noel carefully lifts her ankle and places it in his lap. "I've been told I have _very _good hands," he says with a devilish smirk on his face. "Let me see if I can ease some of the pain for you."

Gently, he begins stroking the area above Berlian's ankle, taking care to avoid the swollen and tender parts. Her face is expressionless as she watches him touching her... except for her eyes. As his fingers dance against her skin, her pupils dilate, while her irises soften into dark, liquid chocolate.

Noel takes that as a cue to kick things up a notch, so he begins moving his fingers higher and higher. When he reaches the frayed cuff of her ripped pant leg, he pauses and looks at her, the question about whether she wants him to continue evident in his eyes. Berlian's nod is barely perceptible. The only reason Noel caught it was because he was looking so intently for it.

Now that he has permission, Noel slips his hand underneath the fabric of Berlian's pant, and gently scores the back of her knee with his fingernails. Her sharp intake of breath tells him that she likes what he's doing. So he does it again, and watches with ever-hardening desire as her eyelids flutter closed and she bites down on her lower lip. Sliding his palm up alongside her inner thigh, Noel soon reaches the hem of her panties. From the line and texture of the fabric, he guesses that they're those cotton boy-shorts-type things that some women like to wear. (Yes, he can tell what type of underwear a woman is wearing just from touch. He is _that_ good.)

"Uh, I need you to help me out here", he tells Berlian, when he realizes that his fingers can't go any higher.

Wordlessly, she unbuttons her pants and pulls the zipper down, her eyes never leaving his face. Noel removes his hand from inside her clothing, and gently inches her pants down her hips, taking her underwear off as he does so. He's surprised to see how wet and swollen she already is, her pussy glistening and pulsing seemingly of its own accord. He figures that being near death has heightened her need. Bringing her ankle up to his lips, he begins softly kissing a trail up her leg, until he reaches her centre. Slowly, deliberately, he circles his tongue around her wetness, reveling in her salty, pungent flavours. Berlian sighs in ecstasy and slides down the door of the Jeep until she is on her back, knees opened wide to receive him.

Her taste, and her smell, and the sight of her so ready to take him in sends his erection into overdrive. He can feel his cock straining against his zipper, and figures that he'd better get down to business, considering he and Berlian could be dead in a few minutes' time. Carefully, he places Berlian's ankle on the floor. She lifts her hips so that he can completely remove her pants and underwear. Tossing them into the front seat of the Jeep, he then quickly undoes his own pants and pulls out his enlarged, throbbing cock. Turning back to face her, he places one knee between her thighs, and braces his other leg the floor. Reminding Berlian that it's "Important to keep that ankle elevated", Noel bends over and gently hooks Berlian's injured leg over his shoulder. Bracing one arm on either side of her body, he notices Berlian's face as she takes in his muscular physique. _The Guns of Puckerone_, Noel smirks to himself. _Gets 'em every time. _

With one sure movement, he plunges his cock inside her. The moment he does so, it's like everything goes quiet: there's no howling wind, no driving rain, no ceaseless artillery fire, no ground-shattering explosions. The only thing Noel can hear is the sound of his ragged breaths as he thrusts, and Berlian's low moans of ecstasy each time he drives his cock further into her. As far as he knows, they are the only two people left in this place, maybe in the whole world. He doesn't know what awaits them out there and, right now, he doesn't care. All that matters is Berlian's whimpers of pleasure as he fucks her, and the way her fingers grip his biceps when she orgasms once, twice. When he comes shortly afterward, he makes no sound, just throws his head back, jaw open wide as if to swallow the moment and preserve it in time.

Neither of them sees the figure that appears at the window, seemingly out of nowhere.

By the time they do, it's too late.

* * *

"Hi Noah! Hi Rachel! What're you guys doin'?", Puck's nine-year-old sister Sarah asks brightly. "And what happened to all your clothes? Did they get wet? Is that why you're in the truck? To dry off? But that doesn't make sense, because you'll only get wet again when you come out."

While she has been speaking, Rachel has curled up into a ball between the front and back seats of Puck's truck, while Puck has hurriedly pulled on his t-shirt. It's inside out. And backwards.

"Shit, midget, enough with the fucking questions!"

Sarah's eyes grow wide. "Noah, you said a _swear_! Twice! I'm telling!"

"Go ahead. Why are you here anyway? I thought you were having a dinner party with your dolls tonight."

"Yeah, but then the thunderstorm came, and I - I mean _they_ - got scared, so I told them I'd come and find you so then I - I mean _they_ - wouldn't be scared no more."

Eyes softening, Puck replies, "Well, tell them that I'll be in in a sec. Rachel and need to finish the game we were playing. She gets scared of thunderstorms, too - "

"I most certainly do not!", comes Rachel's voice from the back seat.

" - and I was showing her that there's really nothing to be scared of", he finishes.

"Ooh, can you show my dolls how to play that game, too?"

"Oh, uh, um, uh... no, midget. This is a game for real people, not dolls."

"Okay, then can you show _me_ how to play it?"

"Oh _hell _no! Gross! Just, just go back inside, okay? Mom'll kill me if you catch a cold because you were standing out in the rain."

When Sarah finally goes returns to the house, Puck collapses in relief. "Man, sometimes I wish I was an only child."

"Yes, well, I told you it wasn't a good idea to engage in sexual role play while your sister was in the house, Noah."

"Aw, c'mon babe, you were so scared by the storm - "

"I was _not!_"

" - that I had to show you that you didn't need to be afraid. And what better way to do that than to make you pretend that you were an ass-kicking sergeant from _Call of Duty: Modern Warplay_?"

"I thought that ridiculous video game was called _Call of Duty: Modern War_fare..."

"Yeah, it is, but you know... "Warplay" rhymes with foreplay. Speaking of which, we need to finish our 'game'." Puck waggles his eyebrows suggestively. "Wanna go upstairs and get started on the next level? It's called _Battering Ram_."

Rachel rolls her eyes at him.

But she doesn't say no.

* * *

_Scene._


	8. Journey's End

TITLE: I'll Be Anybody

SPOILERS: All aired episodes.

DISCLAIMER: See the _Prologue._

AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, here I am again. Huge, gigantic, major, humongous, mondo, supersize apologies for taking so long to update. Aside from my computer issues (which, thankfully, turned out to be minor), life just got in the way of all things _Glee_. *sigh* I gotta tell ya... this being a grown-up thing? Highly overrated. I don't recommend it.

Anyway, I hope this chapter makes the long wait worthwhile. As always, reviews are love!

* * *

_**Scene Six: Journey's End**_

Noá crouches behind the bushes, peering through his spyglass at the house on the other side of the path. To the untrained observer, it looks just as any other in this region: two levels, sloped roof, a single door for entry. Noá is far from untrained, however; he can detect the waves of malignant power emanating from the building. This is how he knows he is in the right place. After several turns of the sun, his quest is nearly at an end; that which he has been seeking is almost in his grasp. He simply needs to overcome these next obstacles, and he will finally be able to rest.

Continuing to watch vigilantly, Noá's skin begins to tingle when the door of the building opens, and two figures glide out. By the way his blood has started to boil, he knows that he is in the presence of Mothë and Sahr: the oldest, most powerful, and most evil sorceresses the land has ever known. Though he has just barely reached his full manhood, Noá is a skilled Light Bringer and has fought against Mothë and Sahr more times than he cares to think about. Each time, he has managed to beat them, but only just. They will stop at nothing to keep their prized possession - stolen from Noá's people during the first turn of the sun, when the world was new - within their clutches.

Which is why Noáfinds it odd that Mothë and Sahr appear to be leaving without it. Switching the lens currently in his spyglass for one that sees Within, Noá scans the two women as they step into their chariot. There is no trace of the jewel, however; just the roiling, coiling strands of dark magic that engulf the sorceresses from head to toe. Noá notes that Sahr is steeped in darker magics than Mothë: despite her small size, she is not to be underestimated, a truth which Noá learned firsthand. He glances absently at the faded bite mark on his left forearm before returning his attention to the witches. They ride off, with not even a backward glance toward their home. Something begins to bubble up from deep within Noá. It is difficult to identify at first but, eventually, he recognizes it: hope. It has been so long since he has experienced this feeling, it comes as no surprise to him that he didn't immediately know it for what it was. He cannot believe that now, after all of the difficulty he has had (including twice nearly losing his life), he will so easily be able to reclaim his people's Heartstone. Darting across the path so quickly he is almost undetectable, Noá reaches the doorway of the witches' home and steps into the darkness. As he is caught by the Guardian Web stretched across the entrance, he curses himself for believing that the final steps of his journey would be easy.

Furiously twisting and turning, Noá tries to keep the Web from tightening around him. If it does, he will be paralyzed in moments, and dead shortly after that. As the Web loops around his ankles and begins snaking up his legs, Noá crashes to the floor. Knowing that he has mere seconds before he becomes immobilized, he quickly unsheathes the ivory dagger from his belt and slices through the Web in one, fluid movement. With a hiss, the Web falls from his legs. As it hits the floor, it transforms into a fine power and then disappears altogether.

Rising carefully, Noá looks around. Raising his spyglass once more, he scans his surroundings for more Dark objects. Not finding any, he begins to make his across the floor. His instinct tells him that the Heartstone is on the second level, so he heads to the wooden staircase at the back of the room. Keeping low to the ground, Noá climbs each stair slowly. Even though his spyglass did not reveal any more Dark objects, he knows that Mothë and Sahr are more than capable of designing one that is undetectable.

He allows himself to exhale in relief when he reaches the top unscathed. Standing perfectly still, he lets his instinct tell him where to go next. Heading down the corridor to his right, his heart almost stops when he hears several voices murmuring and chanting. Not daring to breathe, Noá traces the sounds to the room just ahead of him. The door is closed, but the voices are loud enough to carry. There are too many to count individually, but Noá surmises that there are at least a dozen of them. Given the rhythmic rise and fall of their tone, he realizes that the voices must belong to the Circle of Tytan: an ancient race of warriors who serve only the Dark. Unsheathing his dagger once more, Noá bursts through the door, prepared to fight to the death.

The room is empty.

Surprise and relief washing over him, Noá looks around for the source of the voices. He finds it tucked into a corner: a strange, box-like object with what looks like a fine mesh stretched across its opening. Noá has never seen anything like it before, and marvels at its obvious magical qualities: it is producing sound that fills the room, but is no larger than a loaf of bread. He realizes that Mothë and Sahr must have created it to be a decoy, something to make an intruder _think_ that the Circle of Tytan was in the room, and thus turn back. "Not I", Noá thinks to himself. "I would have willingly fought seven to the _seventh_ Circles if it meant I would retrieve the Heartstone."

Leaving the room, Noá continues his way down the corridor. A small part of him worries at the fact that Mothë and Sahr haven't placed any truly Dark barriers in his way. He ignores the worry, however, because his skin has begun to tingle: the Heartstone is near. As he reaches the door at the end of the corridor, Noá's skin begins to burn. He knows, with every fibre of his being, that the Heartstone is in the room in front of him. Hardly daring to believe that he is about to reclaim it, he reaches out with trembling fingers and turns the doorknob. Stepping into the softly lit room, candlelight dancing along the sloped walls, he realizes why Mothë and Sahr left the Heartstone so poorly guarded: it is no longer a stone. It is now a girl. A very beautiful girl, whose arms are chained to the cast-iron bed that dominates the space. She has long, wavy dark hair, full red lips, and wide brown eyes whose depths appear bottomless.

Deflating, Noá closes the door behind him and leans against it, his eyes never leaving the girl's face. In his peripheral vision, he can see the dull red glow of the Heartstone pulsing beneath the fabric of her white linen shift, right where her actual heart should have been. Mothë and Sahr were more devious than he ever thought: knowing that no Light Bringer can take the life of another human without splintering their soul and condemning themselves to a life of endless torment, they transformed the Heartstone into its essential energy, and placed it in the body of this poor girl. Noá can only imagine the excruciating pain she must have felt as her heart was removed and replaced with the energy of the Stone; energy so powerful, surely it must be burning her from within.

"What is your name, girl?", Noá asks.

She doesn't answer.

"What is your name?", he says again, more loudly.

Still no response.

"Are you a mute?"

She shakes her head.

"Then why will you not speak?"

She opens her mouth and works the muscles of her throat, clearly struggling to make a sound. Realization dawns on Noá's face.

"They have Silenced you."

The girl nods sadly.

Sighing in frustration, Noá walks to the foot of the bed and looks down at her. "Do you know what I am?"

Glancing at the tattoos that circle his upper arms, she nods.

"Then you know why I am here. You also know that I cannot take what I have come for without killing you."

At this, her eyes widen in fear and she scrambles back against the headboard, outstretched arms straining with the effort.

"Do not be afraid, girl. You know I am a Light Bringer, and cannot take your life without destroying my own. Not to mention that if I were to be destroyed, then there would be no chance for the Heartstone to be returned to my people ever again."

At his words, the girl relaxes, but still regards him warily.

"Yet," Noá continues, "I _must _have the Stone. My people need it. We are all but lost without its energy to bind us to each other. There must be a way to reclaim it without harming you."

He stares at the girl, imploring her with his eyes to give him a clue, some sign as to how he can get the stone without hurting her. As their eyes lock, the red pulse beneath the girl's breast changes. It flares brightly for a moment, then fades completely. Noá's throat closes in horror as he thinks the Stone is lost forever. Just as he is about to collapse in despair, the pulse reappears. It is no longer at the girl's breast, however: it has moved to her centre, the gate to her body.

"What? How? What just happened?", Noá stammers.

The girl continues to hold his gaze, unblinking.

"Did you do this? Did you make it move?"

Almost imperceptibly, she nods.

"How? What _are_ you?"

Turning her head, the girl arches back and exposes her neck to Noá. There, beneath her left ear, he sees it: a tiny gold star tattooed into her skin. And he understands.

"You are from the Order of Beryne, priestesses of the Source!", he breathes in wonder. "How did Mothë and Sahr not realize this when they captured you?" As he watches, the gold star fades from the girl's body.

"Oh, you were Concealed", he says, referring to the rite of passage that all young priestesses must complete before being fully accepted into the Order.

"Why did you move the pulse to your centre? Is there some way I might retrieve it without harming you?"

Slowly, the girl begins sliding her body back down the bed so that her shift inches up her thighs.

"Would you like me to help you?" Noá asks, unable to keep the hope and excitement out of his voice. At long last, the Stone is within his reach.

At the girl's assent, Noá climbs onto the bed and gently pushes her garment up to her waist. Exposed like this, the glow of the Heartstone is bright and intense. Noá stares into it, mesmerized. Before he can register what he is doing, he lowers his head into the downy thatch between the girl's legs and trails his tongue against her, the light so bright it nearly blinds him.

Instantly, he feels the power of the Heartstone course throughout his body. The sensation is so overwhelming, he nearly ceases to breathe: every pore, every cell, every nerve is being filled with the essence of light, love, and unity. Unable to control himself, Noá tongues the girl again and again, moving around her core as she opens herself up to him.

As the essence of the Stone continues to fill him, the girl begins to moan softly. Noá looks up in surprise: the Silencing curse is supposed to be unbreakable. It takes him a few moments to realize that the transfer of the Heartstone from the girl's body into his must be weakening the other magics Mothë and Sahr used upon her. Drawn back to the source of the Stone, Noá begins to suck on the girl's heated, glistening flesh. Her moans become louder as she writhes on the bed, lifting her hips with each movement of his mouth. The chains securing her to the bed rattle insistently, but the essence of the Stone is so strong, Noá is unable to remove himself from her body in order to free her. He can only remain at her centre, hungrily absorbing the energy.

Gradually, Noá registers that the essence of the Heartstone is no longer moving throughout his body. It has pooled at his own centre, causing his member to grow rigid and firm. Knowing without fully understanding what he needs to do, Noá quickly removes his boots and leggings. Kneeling above the girl, Noá watches as his member thickens and hardens, drawn to the Stone's energy. His eyes widen in surprise when an arc of red light leaps from the girl's centre to his tip. The connection is so strong, he cannot resist as his body is pulled down to hers. Smoothly, easily, as if he was always meant to do this, Noá pushes himself inside her. At once, her walls tighten around him, concentrating all of the Heartstone's energy at the base of his shaft. The feeling is so intense, Noá's entire body shudders. This causes him to slide even deeper into the girl, who arches her back to take him in. Unable to bear it any longer, Noá begins to piston his hips, desperately trying to take in every last bit of the Stone. With each thrust, the girl makes a sound that's a cross between a sigh and a whimper. She draws up her legs and locks them around Noá's waist, urging him to consume her.

Noá complies immediately, driving his body into the girl with such force, the entire bed shakes, the girl's chains now clanging furiously against the bed frame. For reasons unknown to him, the sound increases Noá's urgency to nearly unbearable levels. Still buried deep within the girl, Noá rises up on knees, lifting up her hips as he does so. From this position, he fills her so completely, the Heartstone's energy has no other place to go but to him. Noá tightens his grip on the girl as he begins to thrust again, more furiously than before. He works his body into the girl's almost mindlessly, so focused is he on the Stone. Suddenly, he throws back his head and roars in triumph. The girl screams the Goddess' name, the Silencing curse lifting as Noá finally takes the Stone from her.

Breathless, Noá collapses on the bed, still joined to the girl beneath him.

"Thank you", he whispers, nearly sobbing with gratitude. "Thank you. Now that the Heartstone is within me, the mages of my people will be able to restore it to its natural form."

Receiving no response, he raises his head to look at the girl. Now that she is no longer Silenced, he is expecting her to speak. Yet, her mouth is closed, her eyes glassy, her body still. With growing dread, Noá realizes that the removal of the Stone has left the girl without a heart. She is dead.

Paralyzed with horror, Noá stares at her lifeless body for what seems like an eternity. While he did not intentionally kill her, he knows that the price he will pay for her death will be brutal and exacting. Carefully, almost reverently, he removes himself from inside her and reaches up to pull her garment back down. Before he can touch her however, her body begins convulsing as she gasps and gulps, frantically trying to force air into her lungs.

Leaping off the bed in shock, Noá cries "What is happening? How is it that you are alive?"

Pulling herself up to a seated position, the girl smiles at him and replies in a low, musical voice, "I called out to the Goddess to Renew me just as you took the Heartstone from my body."

Speechless, Noá can only stand there and gape. He had known that the Order of Beryne were among the most powerful women in this world, but clearly, he had not known just _how_ powerful. In awe, he kneels before the girl and asks, "How may I repay you for the gift you have given me?"

Noá's member re-hardens instantly at the knowing smile on her lips, and the sudden glint in her eye.

"Why don't you begin by unchaining me?"

* * *

Puck quickly unlocks the manacles (a "gift with purchase" when he upgraded his nunchucks) and carefully removes them from around Rachel's wrists. He's glad he thought to pad the insides before putting them on her: she's so tiny, she totally would have broken something, the way she was bucking around on his bed like that. Ready for Round Two, he lays back down beside her and drawls, "Was it good for - "

"Noah, while understand your desire to act the dashing hero to my damsel-in-distress, was it really necessary for me to remain _so completely silent_ during this latest fantasy? Did you not fully comprehend just how difficult that would be for me, who needs - no, _requires_ - the freedom to fully express herself at all times, otherwise how will I be able to draw on my life experiences when I become an Emmy/Oscar/Tony-winning actress? I really can't see why we couldn't have done that with me being able to engage in the relevant dialogue with you, as _equals_, especially given how you wrote my character as a supremely powerful woman in her own right. Which, by the way, I truly appreciate: I'm thrilled see that your being with me has dampened some of your rather archaic, casually patriarchal attitudes towards women. I think it's an excellent sign of a healthy relationship when one party can help the other to grow in such a meaningful way, don't you? In any case, should we perform this particular fantasy again - and, despite my concerns, I did quite enjoy it, especially the part where I got to call upon the Goddess, because even though I'm Jewish, I am fully open to the benefits of other religious and spiritual practices - I think it best if I speak with you at least _some_ of the time, so that the richness of your fantasy can really carry through. Otherwise, it will remain woefully one-dimensional, and I refuse to participate in _any _performance that is so lacking in depth and complexity. Do you have your notebook with you right now? Perhaps we can go over that scene and make the appropriate changes now, so that the next time the opportunity to perform it presents itself, we won't have to waste time on learning the new lines and blocking. Wait, what are you doing? I am not finished speaking with you, Noah! Where are you - "

Shaking his head as he walks down the hall to turn off the radio in his mom's bedroom, Puck wonders if asking Rachel to keep silent during the fantasy really _was_ a good idea. Judging by the amount of word vomit she just spewed, probably not. On the other hand, the barely-restrained sighs, moans and whimpers she made as he fucked her were _so hot_, he thinks that that's probably the best sex they've ever had. So really, if it comes down to Best Sex in the History of the World vs. A Girlfriend Who Won't Shut Up, Puck knows which one he'll choose.

Making his way back to his room, he wonders if he'll have time to buy Sarah a new skipping rope before she gets home tomorrow. He _really_ doesn't want to explain to her - and his mom - how the old one got cut up like that.

"_There_ you are! I thought you had simply walked out on our conversation, which would have been _unbelievably _rude, especially given our recent sexual activity. As you very well know, the post-intercourse moments are a time for bonding with your partner, Noah, for strengthening the ties between you!"

Puck leans down and bonds to Rachel with a kiss, effectively ending their "conversation".

It works every time.

* * *

_**Fin.**_


	9. Encore

TITLE: I'll Be Anybody

SPOILERS: The "first thirteen"

DISCLAIMER: See the _Prologue._

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Once again, huge, gigantic, major, humongous, mondo, supersize apologies for taking so long to update. To say that my life is "crazy busy" would be the understatement of the century, I swear. To make it up to all you lovely people, I present...

... a double-whammy, two-part, profusion of Puckleberry goodness!

The idea for this chapter came from an early review from **I Am Lady Liberty**: she wanted some insight into how Puck and Rachel prepared for their scenes. After thinking long and hard about the mechanics of it, I took my inspiration from a hilarious fic by **une_fille**, **becca_radcgg**, and **honeyprose** (Google "living life like a sex viking" and you'll see what I mean).

A word about the structure: each main section refers to the fantasies in which Rachel or Puck were acting as the _other's_ object of desire. In other words, in Rachel's _Manifesto..._, Section 1) refers to "Long Overdue", Section 2) refers to "The Guns of Puckerone", and Section 3) refers to "Journey's End". In Puck's _Guide..._, Section 1) refers to "Final Curtain Call", Section 2) refers to "Guitar Lessons", and Section 3) refers to "Private Screening". I hope that's clear. (If it's not, I recommend reading the entire story again, just to refresh your memories! :o) )

Lastly, this chapter marks the end of my Puckleberry fics, for now. (I promise I'll return to them; I just want to play with the other Glee characters for a while). Please review, even though I made you wait _far too long_ for an update!

P.S. **Nova802**, there's a shout-out in there just for you! *wink*

* * *

_**Rachel Berry's Manifesto for Engaging in Sexual Role-Play With Your Fully-Consenting, Completely Monogamous Partner**_

**1) "B*TCH" = "Babe In Total Control of Herself"**

_a) Sarcasm: An End in Itself_

i) (Metaphorical) Emasculation

ii) (Intellectual) Manipulation

iii) (Sexual) Frustration

_b) Using A Southern Accent Does Not Betray Your Fathers' Union or Their ACLU Membership_

i) Soft Yet Strong: Not A Paradox

ii) Sensual Southern Belle vs. Rough-and-Ready Redneck: A Study of Contrasts

_c) Staying Completely In Character While Experiencing Multiple Orgasms_

i) Watching Pornography (For Research Purposes ONLY!)

ii) Circular Breathing: The Key to Honing Your Already-Impressive Levels of Self-Control

iii) Emotional Compartmentalization: What Every Budding Young Ingénue Needs to Know

**2) How to Maintain One's Feminine Demeanour While Channelling "Ellen Ripley"**

_a) Highlighting Your Natural Assets: Eyes, Lips, Hair_

i) Liquid Eyeliner: There Is Truly No Other Kind

ii) Berry-Flavoured Lipgloss: Sweet _and_ Seductive

iii) 100 Strokes of the Hairbrush: A Short-term Investment With a 500% Return

_b) Expletives Are An Expression of Womanly Passion_

i) F*ck: A Perfectly Reasonable Gut Reaction

ii) D*mn: A Completely Acceptable Demonstration of Discomfort

_c) Flexibility Is Not Only An Asset in Ballet Class_

i) Lifting Your Leg To His Ear Increases His Arousal

ii) Raising Your Hips Eases His Access

iii) Arching Your Back Tightens His Hold

**3) Silence Is **(Most Certainly _Not!_)** Golden**

_a) Biting One's Tongue Without Causing Permanent Damage and Irrevocably Altering One's Inevitable Path to Stardom_

i) It's All in the Teeth: Molars To Apply Pressure, Incisors To Ensure Restraint

_b) The Precise Art of Non-verbal Communication_

i) Half-lid, Three-Quarter, and Wide-Eyed Stares

ii) The Stronger the Vocal Cords, The More Easily They Can Be Seen

iii) Tension and Relaxation: Muscular Isometrics for Supreme Dramatic Effect

_c) Of Human Bondage: More Than Just a Western Classic_

i) Free Weights: The Key to Increasing Your Upper Body Strength

ii) Submissive and In Control: Not A Paradox, Part 2

iii) Trust: An Essential Ingredient for Sexual Satisfaction

* * *

_**Noah Puckerman's Gui****de to Fantasy-Fucking Your Girlfriend**_

**1) Acting Like a Wussy Loser Because Shy Guys Make Girls Hot** (What's up with that, anyway?)

_a) On Stuttering_

i) Too Much Means It'll Take You Longer to Get Laid

_b) How to Pretend That You're Not Really a Stud: Lessons in Self-Control_

i) Visualization #1: Sue Sylvester in a String Bikini

ii) Visualization #2: Coach Tanaka in a French Maid's Uniform iii) Visualization #3: Sandy Ryerson in... Well, in Anything

_c) Construction 101: How to Make Sure the Furniture Doesn't Break and Piss Her Dads Off_

i) Knowing Your Wood (The kind you get from trees, pervert!)

ii) How To Nail (The kind made from iron, freak!)

**2) "My So-Called Life" Was an Awesome Show** (What? STFU, okay?)**, and Jordan Catalano Was the Coolest Badass Emo Dude, Like, Ever**

_a) Putting the "Ass" in "Asshole": Muscle Tone is Everything_

i) Your Body Is Your Temple... Except When It Comes to Dip

ii) How to Watch Your Mom's Pilates DVDs Without Getting Caught

_b) How to Keep From Fucking Her Right Where She Stands: Lessons in Self-Control, Part 2_

i) Visualization #4: Principal Figgins in BDSM Gear

ii) Visualization #5: Miss Pillsbury in... Well, She's Kinda Hot, So Never Mind

iii) Visualization #6: Dead Mailmen (There's a reason it's a classic)

_c) Showing No Mercy Is a Good, Good Thing_

i) The More You Tease, The Wetter She Gets

**3) Acting Like Yourself When You Can't Improve On Perfection** (No, really. You can't.)

_a) Clothes Don't Make the Man: The _Man_ Makes the Man_

i) How to Be a Badass Without Moving a Muscle: The Death Glare

ii) Real Men Don't Walk, They Prowl

iii) Actions Speak Louder Than Words: Showing Possession of your Woman

_b) (Semi) Public Sex: How to Turn Her Crazy to Your Advantage_

i) Revenge Is a Dish Best Served _Hot_

ii) Knowing You're Better Than Everyone Else Doesn't Make You an Asshole, It Just Makes You Right

_c) Taking Her From Behind Doesn't Make You A Caveman_ (Unless she wants you to be)

i) Stiletto Heels Are God's Gift To Guys: How to Buy Women's Shoes Without Looking Like a Total Perv/Douche

ii) The Best Angles of Entry, Or: Why Learning Geometry Isn't Always a Complete Waste of Time

iii) Bite, But No Blood... Otherwise You'll Never Hear the End of It

* * *

_When I'm with you_

_Anything will do_

_I'll be anybody_

_And baby, so will you_

(Ibomeka/Neale/Kroeker, 2006)


End file.
